


Ataash (A Prequel)

by the_never_was



Series: To Seek [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Forgiveness, Love, Multi, Other, Pain, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 04:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12073962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_never_was/pseuds/the_never_was
Summary: First sight is a load of tripe, but Hawke is a lost cause to him. She just hopes she survives both her heart and his weapons.Glory, really. For all the wrong reasons.





	1. Moment of Change

**Author's Note:**

> *A short important prequel to a large fic set in the Inquisition events involving femHawke and the Arishok. Rather important to read before reading the main story, but not necessary as they are minor flashbacks to this.  
> The idea came in a dream, and the pain was palpable. Love comes when not only we least expect it, but also when it seems most impossible. This is my take on a possible slight alternate timeline that will blend into canon Inquisition events.  
> Player Hawke that doesn't look like default Hawke.  
> Also Sassy Hawke. 
> 
> Dragon Age plot and characters used belong to Bioware. I'm simply a curious fanwriter.  
> Love to other "Arishawke" fans.

Hawke thought as she stared up into those golden black eyes with the firelight dancing over them that she had seen nothing more beautiful, for the owner of those eyes was tall, mighty, and his aura _commanded_ you notice and respect his superiority. His brow was heavy, as all Qunari brows were, skin a lovely gray that looked almost bronze at times in the right view of the sun, that gorgeous crown of horns curving back off his head in a way she'd never seen on any other Qunari like him—they were long, thick, banded with gold in décor, and a perfect dark sculpted contrast to his straight, long white hair. His ears were not shaped like an elf's, but were pointed outward and wider. The strong nose was long and prominent, yet flat, and was his strongest feature next to his jaw line that appeared to cut steel, it was so taut. Surprisingly full, sexy lips shaped his mouth, and though he never smiled, never used them in any way but to barely grumble at her, Hawke would bet sovereigns on a smile from him knocking her on her arse.

Her eyes slowly dropped, drinking in his broad shoulders hidden in the red pauldrons of his armor, the huge chest with the straps crossed over it and the red paint partially coating his skin. Long forearms, long fingers and claws. Thick thighs in pants with a red skirted ceremonial piece attached at his waist over his crotch. Dark leather boots. Long, narrow feet.

The Arishok said nothing, but Hawke felt his silent command and looked back up, a bit intimidated as she always was. What was it about this Qunari that made her so...so... _needy_? He was powerful, he was stunning, he was a force of nature. And he was also one of the highest leaders of the Qun. To even have the small arguments she did have with him was, honestly, an honor. His own people rarely got to speak to him at all.

She dared to stare into those eyes, knowing in that second her soul was branded forever. Had been at least possessed since the first moment she'd seen him on his dais, months ago. Somehow this Qunari had captured her entire attention. Her focus. Her passion. Hawke even _dreamed_ of him, he owned her so much. Yet he didn't know any of that and _still_ managed to make her feel like he was fully aware of his effect on her—isolating her to speak without her friends, constantly making her question her motives and actions and what was greedy or corrupt, forcing her to consider far different perspectives than she'd ever had growing up. The Arishok was, truly, the most intelligent being she'd ever known. The most philosophical. He was astounding, and she felt lucky to have worked with him and his men in the compound.

He stared back, unblinking, rooting her to the spot so deeply that she felt anchored by traps. His handsome face betrayed nothing; he looked almost bored. But the intensity in his eyes gave away that he was, in fact, thinking quite a bit at that second. About what? she wondered. And wasn't it past time she should have been...removed from the compound? It was late, very dark. Her friends would be worried soon.

For Hawke, at least, it was too late for another situation. Her reason was stolen, her heart equally captured. Her mind warned her dimly _not_ to do what her desire said. She swallowed tightly, watched the slightest hint of a frown cross his face, and stood up a bit on her armored toes. His eyes widened a bit, but his face remained passive, and he did not move. At all. Not even as she pushed up closer...then closer, and at the last second, prayed to the Maker that he would not kill her.

Very, very softly, like the touch of a flower petal to one's skin, her lips touched his sensual mouth. Instantly her face flushed hot, her body on fire almost, as she held that pose for a few more seconds, eyes shut to avoid the fear of seeing him staring down at her in shocked disgust before he could react. Slowly she lowered her heels a little, just enough to pull her lips back fractionally.

She expected a reprimand. A verbal snare about how out of control she was, about how she lacked respect of his person, if not an outright physical fight from he or his guards. That it was _highly_ inappropriate for her to do that to him—his own people couldn't touch him like that, so why could she? Her eyes were still tight as she opened them, looking down between them as her heels continued to lower a little toward the sandy ground beneath her.

Hawke was _insane_ to have just _kissed_ the fucking Arishok.

But, oh, the feel of those smooth, sensual lips just brushing hers like that was worth it.

She also never, in her nervousness, once considered that kissing wasn't really a...Qunari thing, a common openly affectionate act in a restricted people, and that _that_ was possibly another reason as to why he'd stood there, not moving. Hawke took a breath and forced herself to raise her head to look at him and ask forgiveness. The moment she saw his eyes, not angry, not disgusted, but _charged_ and _hungry,_ she was so confused. His eyes rapidly moved over her face, his jaw locked, and he bent faster than she could have prepared for, that hot mouth back against hers.

Hawke moaned softly in the back of her throat, hands gripped into fists to avoid them from creeping up his neck and taking fists of that long, pretty white hair. Her sound must have been encouraging because he rumbled and pressed closer, one firm hand grasping her chin and holding her still while he explored the kiss. She slightly parted her lips, eyes closed, and felt him do the same, melding to her almost perfectly, and then she dared again to reach out to him, this time with the tip of her tongue.

The Arishok pulled back half an inch, huffed above her, then slowly touched his mouth to hers again. When his lips parted enough, Hawke reached with her right hand, lightly stroking his forearm connected to the iron-hold on her chin and jaw, and she slid her tongue over his sharpened teeth. The danger of it was intoxicating to her, the sudden stillness and then immediate dominance from him delicious. Because once he understood what she was doing, the Arishok took control. His tongue sought hers out, his hand releasing her chin long enough to grab the back of her head and her golden ponytail and grip so hard she got an instant headache. Hawke still sighed, too in awe of the fact she was kissing the ox of her dreams.

After what felt like an eternity, but could have only been a minute, perhaps two, he withdrew from her, knuckles cracking stiffly as he let go of her head and dropped his arm back.

Hawke breathed heavily, staring up at him in her shock and arousal, unsure of just _what_ to think or do anymore. This...this reciprocation she had not expected. Yes, once in a while she noticed him openly eye her; at first it appeared to be a measurement of her worth, and probably did start that way, but it grew to be sexual as his eyes would take her in and slowly make their way down, hesitating more and more at her breasts, her waist, her legs, before coming back up as slowly. So the Arishok at least appreciated her human beauty, if anything, and it made her...proud of herself, in a way.

His breathing was slightly heavier than usual, but nothing pacing. Nothing...like hers. In fact, he looked like he'd tried something he'd been determined to figure the worth of, judged it, and was past it, his face had once again gone stony, eyes slightly aggressive and weighing.

Well, shit, she thought.

Hawke blew out her breath, ready to thank him for listening to their earlier talk, for allowing her to stay and eat a meal—the first of its kind of invitation from him. She had come to tell him that she and her friends had killed Sister Petrice for murdering his men, so it was probably an honor extended to her for that. But suddenly the Arishok blinked, grunted, and turned on his heel to walk away, dismissing her as he often did without a word; well, at least when he wasn't furious and verbally kicking her out—just a wave, some sign of body language, a tiny tic in his forehead that only she seemed to see and would casually take her leave upon seeing it, often catching some surprised gratefulness in his eyes. So that was why she did not press now.

Hawke simply inhaled, honestly surprised she was still alive, and turned the opposite direction toward the stairs and out through the compound's gates. He did not turn around, and she did not look back.

   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
[Say hi, Hawke.]  
 


	2. Face to the Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon Age plot and characters used belong to Bioware. I'm simply a curious fanwriter.  
> Love to other "Arishawke" fans, as I dubbed it when I saved the writing a long while ago.

 

Hawke wasn't sure how to go about things since the heated kiss. She couldn't avoid the compound out of nervousness, especially not with business concerns, and if she did, it would show that she was weak to desire over purpose—something that would grant her his disrespect quickly. Yet now she was frustrated, consumed in thought and feeling, dreaming nightly in sexual fantasy of the one man she could not have.

So she did what Camilla Hawke did best.

She stabbed things. Lots of things. Dragons, mercenaries, Tal-Vashoth on the Coast, even some slavers they stumbled across. And it went noticed by her companions, her new determination and aggressive attacks. After she cut up a spider in her mines, Fenris tsk'd and said, “Your first stroke killed it, Hawke.” Annoyed by her embarrassment, she'd shrugged and moved on, not wanting to let the comment bother her.

She also drank. A lot. She became more of a regular in the Hanged Man pub, sipping nightly with Varric and even Merrill, and playing cards with the Lowtown frequent patrons. Varric was quietly concerned, she could tell, and she did take his offer to sleep in his room twice when he didn't want her walking back to Hightown.

Eventually he confronted her by locking her inside with him. “Hawke, _what_ is going on with you?”

“What do you mean?” she calmly asked, sitting at the table in his room and staring at him.

“Sweetheart, you never drink like this. Something has really hurt you. Talk to me. Let me kill it,” Varric murmured as he clasped a hand over hers. “You're my best friend. My sister I never had. Let me help.”

Hawke's chin quivered, and she looked away. “Sorry, Varric. I'm just...going through some things.”

“Like?”

“Have you...oh.” Hawke stopped, realizing she'd answered her own question, and looked back to Varric. “Bianca.”

“What about it?”

She shook her head. “No. The real one.”

Varric frowned, confused. “Uh. What about her? She...show up or something and bother you? I haven't heard anything.”

“I'm saying...I...sort of have a Bianca.”

“Wait...hang on,” Varric grumbled and took the seat opposite her. “You're telling me that you're...in deep for someone you can't have?”

Hawke sighed, feeling the truth of that intensely. “More or less. And no, I'm not telling you who. It's not someone you really know.”

“Okay, so, why can't you have him?” Varric asked, hands spread. “I mean, is he married or something?”

“Sort of. To his...profession.”

“Ouch. Like a Warden or Templar.”

“Yep.”

Varric squeezed her fingers and slid her a cup for tea. “Sorry, Hawke. That sucks.”

“Oh, I know,” Hawke whispered, hands hugging the cup while Varric got up to order the tea. She waited until he was done talking to the woman outside the door before continuing. “Worst part? Not sure he even...feels anything for me that way, either. Just maybe curiosity? You know, like a Templar having to be chaste and whatnot.”

Varric winced for her, and she was grateful someone else got it. “Ouch. Well, Camilla, you're pretty, and I can get you a boyfriend anytime who _will_ appreciate all of you. Seriously, I have a list of names. People ask to court you on a regular basis.”

Her eyes rounded upon her dwarven friend as he leaned back in his chair. “Say what?”

“Yeah, you know, guys in the pub, some merchants, even a few nobles who aren't sure their families will let them send proposals yet. Guys like you, Hawke. So just say the word, we'll get you a man, and if this guy doesn't get the point, then fuck him. You deserve better. Someone who can give you their full attention and not want to change you into some submissive wife.”

“Varric, you're sweet. But making this man jealous isn't even possible, and besides, I _know_ he can't give me his full attention ever. It's not his fault. Just makes me a little wistful and sad, like Merrill longing after puppies,” she admitted and sat the empty cup back down. “Damn, though, it hurts.”

“Well, we'll get you past it. Sure explains your temper lately.”

“Sorry.”

Varric laughed. “Not stabbing me, so I don't care. Just wanted to be sure you were okay, and not, you know, drinking yourself to death.”

Hawke lay her chin upon her folded hands. “I'll cut back. I should anyway.”

“All right.”

The door suddenly flung open and Fenris was there, eyes wide and panting. Both Varric and Hawke instantly stood. Hawke stalked over to the elf, focused. “What is it?”

“Aveline...elves...converts...Arishok...problem. Need you,” Fenris finally breathed out and stood up right. “This is bad, Hawke.”

“Is this about the crazy elf who took their _saarqamek_ that we killed?”

“No, no, two converts that Aveline wants for capture.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and stomped out of the room, nearly bumping into the poor woman who had made their tea. “Sorry, ma'am, but I can't drink it now. Have it for yourself.”

Varric apologized profusely as they ran out, leaving the rest of the pub in shock. Hawke ordered Fenris to go find Merrill and attempt to stop Aveline if possible. They ran into Isabela as they were leaving, Fenris already footing it toward the Alienage, and Hawke explained what was going on. Her thieving friend, though, said she needed to go check on something with a merchant.

“Isabela, let's _go_.”

“Hawke, I'm not going in there.”

“I've never asked you to before. I'm asking you now.”

The pirate shook her hand, earrings jangling. “No. I seriously can't. I'm sorry.”

“Some friend,” Varric sniped, one hand reaching back for Bianca. “Can't you just stand with us?”

Hawke, who understood the pirate better than Varric, narrowed her eyes. “What have you done?”

“Me? Nothing.”

“Do not _lie_ to me.” Isabela suddenly looked very nervous, and Hawke cursed and kicked the wall of the Hanged Man. “You did something. To the Qunari.”

“I...look. That um...thing I wanted back from my once contractor? It's...important. I didn't realize how important.”

Hawke's eyes lit up. “If you're about to tell me it was _you_ who stole the tome they're looking for, the reason they've been stuck here this entire time, countless lives lost on both sides, then you had best say it straight and honorably for once.”

Varric's jaw dropped. Isabela wavered a little, then grunted and crossed her arms. “I don't see what the big deal is. It's just a book.”

“ _Maker,_ your ignorance is astounding,” Varric griped at the pirate and shook his head in disgust. “Can't believe this. Hawke, we have to tell the Arishok.”

“No, don't!” Isabela cried out. “Please don't. I...I'm going. I'm leaving. Right now. I'm taking my ship, and I'm getting out of here. I got it back, and I'm taking it to get paid.”

“So you're a liar _and_ someone who abandons friends,” Hawke accused, beyond disgusted. “I cannot believe this. I thought better of you.”

Isabela sighed, her bracelets glinting in the evening light. “Hawke. You want to see the best in anyone if you can. Don't put your burden on the person for not living up to your expectation, fancy?”

A fair point, one Hawke would concede, but she sighed and tapped her foot. “I have to go. I'm going to trust you to do the right thing. Bring them the book. They'll leave Kirkwall. We're good.”

“I'm leaving, Hawke.”

“I don't know if I believe that,” Hawke said, risking everything in that moment and not knowing so. “I'm going to _trust_ you to not fuck this up. To do the right thing, as I said. Please, Isabela. You're not some heartless woman. I've seen good things come from you. I know you're afraid, but I know you're capable.”

Varric patted Hawke's arm, comforting her as the pirate looked very edgy and shook her bandana-covered crown. “I'm going for the boat. Bye, then. It's...a shame,” Isabela murmured and took off before they could stop her, zigzagging through the alleys.

“Fucking bitch. You should have just taken her down,” Varric snarled and looked to his friend. “Let's go, Hawke. He's gotta know.”

Hawke swallowed as they began running. “Varric...he might kill me for that.”

“Then he's going down under the entire city's wrath. Stay strong.”

 

 

 


	3. Definite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon Age plot and characters used belong to Bioware. I'm simply a curious fanwriter.  
> Love to other "Arishawke" fans, as I dubbed it when I saved the writing a long while ago.

 

“I need to see the Arishok. It's seriously vital,” Hawke panted as they arrived in front of the compound gates. Varric was ready to fall over, they'd run so damn fast.

The guard to the left, one she recognized by his scar on his shoulder, nodded and moved his spear, ordering his companion to do the same. “He is expecting you,” came the deep voiced response as the gates were drawn apart.

Hawke cursed. “Fantastic. He's gonna kill us.”

“Now, Hawke, we don't know that...yet,” Varric replied, though he'd paled some. “Let's go.”

Hawke steeled her nerves as she entered the compound that, now only a week ago, she'd kissed the Arishok in. And she was terrified. Hawke climbed the steps, seeing him already impressively dangerous in front of his dais as he stared Aveline down.

The second the redhead noticed her, she sighed with relief. “Hawke, thank the Maker you're here. There's...a problem.”

“There's a few problems,” Hawke intoned, and the Arishok's eyes shot to her with demand. “I must speak with you.”

“First we deal with this!” Aveline argued, making the Qunari around them shift without subtly reaching for weapons.

“ _Shanedan_ , Hawke,” the Arishok said, taking control.

“What I have to say is for you to know only, and I apologize for the delay.” Hawke sighed as he nodded sharply.

“It can wait. This is important,” Aveline snapped.  
  
Hawke, feeling the immense pressure worrying her over Isabela's possible non-return with the book, gritted her teeth; she knew damn well Aveline was like a dog with a bone about these things and would keep getting in the way. And the discussion with the Arishok needed to be when he was calm, not agitated. With a release of breath to steady her nerves, she said, “Tell me about the elves. What's going on?”

“Two elves came before me, petitioning to be _viddathari_. They wished to remove their former lives, to free themselves from this corruption and find order within the Qun. And I allowed it. They are protected here,” the Arishok explained and waved a hand as Aveline tried to retort. “ _Silence_ , human. This is not your domain.”

“Were the elves fleeing Aveline for a reason they disclosed?” Hawke asked, calmly. Respectfully.

The Arishok noticed and bowed his head. “Yes. A relative was raped by a human guard, and nothing was done. So they resolved the matter, themselves.”

“Alleged rape! They _killed_ my guard!” Aveline snapped, absolutely furious. “And you're _hiding_ them. Hiding murderers. I need to know if what they say is true! Vigilantism is bad enough in this bloody place.”

Hawke waved her hand before her friend. “Arishok, may I speak with these _viddathari_?”

He nodded and his guards brought the elves out, two men who looked both angry and terrified. The Arishok pointed at her. “Speak, _viddathari_.”

“Lady Hawke, our sister was raped by one of the guardsmen. We reported it, and nothing happened. Typical human reactions. No justice. No peace. No...thought for our sister. She's been so frightened and hurt, so we...we were angry and we....”

“We killed him. We admit it,” the other brother finished. “No one was safe with the guard alive.”

Hawke immediately whipped to Aveline. “And where the hell were you for this? Why aren't you demanding justice for the girl? Why were reports ignored?”

“Hawke, I walk into this mess with only a dead guard as evidence. I do not know this case. Those below me should have handled it, and _yes_ , if it is true and reports were hidden or withheld, then those men will be severely punished by the law, I promise you. But that also means these two vigilantes cannot be allowed free,” Aveline argued, her inner core for justice and balance so strong that she couldn't let this go. “You're my friend. Think about this.”

The Arishok sneered down at Aveline, stepping a little down the slight steps to his dais. “You dare petition her in friendship when you use her? That is precisely why these converts have joined. There is no trust, just corruption to be found outside of the Qun.”

Hawke couldn't help but agree. “Aveline. Why would two elves risk everything and even join the _Qun_ if they were not telling the truth?”

The Guard-Captain sighed and rubbed her face. “I know, Hawke, but this is Kirkwall. It happened here, and it is my duty to deal with this.”

“Not any longer. They are, by converting, absolved of all past crimes and identity,” the Arishok said with a slight hint of snark in his tone. “You have no place here.”

“Neither do any of you,” Aveline snapped back. “Please, Arishok. If you do not help us, I cannot fix the situation. I cannot help the elves or their sister or the family of the dead guardsman.”

“Now you petition for order? For reason? This is _your_ city, _bas-ra_ , and you are stuck in its corruption,” he seethed, baring those sharp teeth Hawke had felt tease her tongue. The memory came alive so intensely for a moment that she had to center herself again.

Hawke stepped between the pair, back to the Arishok in trust. Aveline gaped at her. “Dear friend, just let them go. Do what you can on your end. They're not going without punishment—they will never see their sister again because they just gave up their lives, their home, their family. Their very names are gone to them now. Let that be enough. Help the girl.”

“I...I know. I just...this went under my nose, and I'm trying to fix it as I know how,” Aveline admitted, but sighed and backed down from her aggressive stance. “I'm trying to obey our law.”

Hawke, though, didn't move, just added instead, “Be _glad_ the Arishok isn't going to defend them to the point of attack. You cannot provoke a great bear in his cave for long before you will be rightfully eaten.”

The Arishok said not a word, but she _felt_ his gaze on her so heavily that she might as well have been nude before him. She stepped away, returned to her original position, and looked up at him. What she saw made her hate that she was about to give him every reason to wish her dead, for there on the Arishok's face was pride. In her. Even Varric saw it, because he slightly sucked in a breath.

The large Qunari tilted his head once in respect to her, then let his gaze slide back to Aveline briefly. “Leave. Your business is finished.”

“I will wait for Hawke, if it's all the same,” Aveline ventured, and Hawke knew she probably just wanted to speak to her in private after the fact to avoid having to track her down otherwise.

The Arishok looked to Hawke, who nodded, and he _grudgingly_ allowed Aveline to remain. He turned and sat back on his dais, one large hand that had tangled in her hair so sexily now reaching to summon her forward. Hawke plucked every ounce of stupid, fool-hearted courage that let her get away with so much and came to the edge of his dais. He waved his arm, and both guards stepped to the sides, out of earshot.

“ _Shanedan_ , Hawke. I must hear this.”

“First off, I'm sorry. What I'm about to tell you is something I truly did not know until minutes ago, and I came as quickly as possible,” she began, hands clasping together nervously in her gauntlets. He noticed the behavior and frowned darkly. Hawke continued with a tight swallow, “And I hope that you will remember all I have done for you and your people here, and know that I _will_ right this error,  _myself._ I swear to you.”

“Speak,” he grunted, gorgeous eyes already angry and preparing him.

Hawke closed her eyes and bowed her head low in shame. “I have discovered the one who took your Tome.”

The Arishok stood up so fast that Hawke moved backwards instinctively, nearly falling on her ass in shock. His same hand that had clutched her chin to keep her still for him to kiss now held her jaw in a vice grip. To those gasping behind her, the claw across her lip was a threat...but Hawke alone felt the intentional tenderness in the touch. The Arishok bent slightly toward her face, his stony voice nearly rumbling in a purr as he lowly spoke. “Say the name, _Basalit-an_ , and I will reward you.”

“Isabela, a pirate,” she murmured, trying not to let fear enter her tone. When he gave her a look to continue, to give him more identification, Hawke almost cried out in shame, terrified he'd snap her neck in that second, “One of my...companions.”

The Arishok snarled loudly and gripped her tighter to the point of bruising. Aveline gasped so loudly that it damn near echoed in the surrounding area. Varric shuffled behind her, no doubt itching to yank that crossbow out in a heartbeat to protect her. Hawke shuddered, opened her eyes, and looked right into the Arishok's face that had come a hair's breadth from her own. “You have one chance. Talk.”

“She needed help freeing herself from someone in her past, and I helped her. I did not know that she stole something back from him that wasn't hers to begin with, Arishok. I did not know it was your relic. Had I, I would have taken it and brought it to you, myself. I swear this.”

“Where...is...she?” he asked, each word a volatile threat, echoing the promise of death in his eyes.

Hawke tried so hard not to tremble, to shake in his hold and show her unworthiness. “I ordered her to return it to you. She said she was leaving. I have faith in her to come tonight with it, and then you will be free. I do not know where it is to get it myself. I am...sorry. So sorry. I wish I had known. I failed in not knowing this soon enough. I failed you, and I did not mean to.”

It was in that second that Hawke's heart started to crack. There, in his eyes, was bared truth to her that she never expected to see—he wanted to believe her. Desperately. He wanted to believe someone he respected, the only person he did in the entire city, would not have kept this from him and retained him in his exile. So she opened her heart, poured her vulnerability into her eyes, and saw him clench his teeth as he fought the sympathy. The belief. Instead he embraced his hate, and it almost broke her heart.

The Arishok snapped and shoved her back into Aveline and Varric, nearly crushing her jaw as he did so. Hawke cried out in pain, thankfully helped by her two friends, but all three of them were frozen in terror as the being before them rose to his full height, horns proudly crowning him, and bared his teeth. “I will have that Tome _tonight_ , and I will get it _myself_ , tearing down your _pathetic city_ to find it. I am done with your disrespect. We are no longer speaking. You are no longer welcome. You have proven your worth, all of you, and it is found wanting, disgraceful, and foul. You have few seconds to run. _Go._ ”

As soon as he finished speaking, his guards threw spears. Hawke dodged them by rolling with Varric and quickly heaving him up to his feet, Aveling covering them with her large shield for that frightening moment. They ran down the steps toward the gates, dodging more spears as the doors opened and thankfully _those_ guards did not attack them.

Hawke took a split second to look over her shoulder, right at the Arishok who was _staring at her_ , with absolute pain in her eyes. Sadness. Betrayal that she felt deep in her core. And in that same second, she saw something utterly shocking that almost tripped her out of the gate: a question ran through his expression before he could suppress it, but it wasn't one aimed at her.

Doubt. He had doubted himself for one second.

She knew, as they ran to Hightown to prepare the city guard for war with the Qunari, that he had asked himself if he was wrong about her. If in his anger he had been too quick. But it was too late. He'd decreed in his temper, and she did not blame him. Hawke blamed herself. The bloodshed coming was on her for not retaining Isabela, for not finding out sooner about the tome. And she _would_ make that pirate _pay_ , even as she hoped her _friend_ would prove to be the good person Hawke truly believed she was.

 


	4. Culminate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon Age plot and characters used belong to Bioware. I'm simply a curious fanwriter.  
> Love to other "Arishawke" fans, as I dubbed it when I saved the writing a long while ago.

 

Hawke wondered briefly if this was the worst day of her life besides the day she fled Lothering. Each corner taken to the epicenter was met with fights, with spears and gray fists and dark angry, disappointed eyes. She didn't want to fight any of the Qunari, and managed to slide around a few in hopes of sparing them at least her daggers. But the night was bloody and well paid for in years of simmering tension between the human guards of Kirkwall, the angry fear-mongerers of Kirkwall, and the silent, demanding Qunari.

Bodies were strewn everywhere, and Hawke ignored as many as possible, her companions following her and only fighting to keep spears off and swords out of reach as she ran for the Viscount's building where she knew _he_ was. Because she knew that when you sack a city, that's where you sit yourself in victory.

She ran through the building, ignoring as many Qunari and guards as possible, sliding around on her boots until she rolled straight into the larger open room past the stairs. Varric was at her left, Bianca already aimed and trigger finger pressing. Aveline backed her up with a shield, Fenris holding his sword ready behind to the right, and Sebastian had his bow on those down the stairs. Merrill swallowed loudly, but held her staff. Bethany had been taken into the Tower recently and so was absent, along with Anders—Hawke had figured it would be too risky bringing that mage and Justice into this situation, and so left him in his hidden home.

Hawke trembled.

The Arishok stepped down toward her, looking both severely agitated and somehow composed. Several Qunari flanked him, calm and also composed, not moving for their spears. His dark eyes flashed at her in the many lights of the chandeliers. Slowly his hands spread open.

“Where is your friend, Hawke?”

She fought the shudder of the threat in the soft question. Every instinct inside her heart screamed at him, screamed to tell him her damn _devotion_ to him if he couldn't even see, of how angry she was at Isabela...and how angry she was at him for not believing her. Hawke's brown eyes flared back at him. “I do not know. If she ran, I will find her. I will bring you that book. But she may return any time.”

“A cowardly thief will run from a city on fire. How can you not accept this?”

“Because I know more than you do about her.”

The Arishok jerked slightly at that, and Hawke refused to shake. He took one step down the staircase. “Do _not_ believe that every person is redeemable just because you wish them to be. Do not be so _foolish_.”

“I accept that I should have known about the book before. I accept that responsibility. And I'm trying to show you that nothing, ever, was intended against you. Tell me, Arishok, do you really think I _can_ betray you?” she asked, while the jaws of her friends all plopped open. Varric stared up at her, totally freaking out and knowing more of what her question really hinted in meaning.

The Arishok hummed to himself.

“Forget strength and whether or not fighting is possible. Look at all I have done for you, and tell me if you think I _can,_ by my own honor. By your honor,” she rephrased. The Qunari at his side all paused, glancing to the Arishok with mild surprise on their end at that. Hawke's lip trembled a little as he stared at her, again that hint of a question from earlier back in his gaze. “I _can't_ , Arishok. So let me right this, even if you destroy this place until then. As I said before, the city shouldn't have poked the great bear in his cave and decided they would be without consequence of it.”

He exhaled heavily, giant head rising up and looking breathtaking.

Hawke licked her lips. “I didn't kill a single Qunari on my way here. I could have. I should have. I didn't. I knocked them back, incapacitated them, or kept moving. If that isn't enough, I don't know what is.”

“Hawke,” Aveline murmured, clearly disturbed.

Hawke could see the change in his gaze, the thinking as he decided what would happen. But before he could even speak, before he could say whether her actions and past respect had been enough influence on him or not, something amazing occurred—as if the Maker himself had heard them.

Isabela sauntered into the room, walked around the group, and stood next to Hawke. Hawke stared at her friend, golden hair swishing as she jerked her head, and gaped. The pirate looked terrified, but she held it together, breathed out, and stepped toward the nearest Qunari guard. Everyone watched in silence as Isabela handed the relic over. It was just as silently accepted in shock, the sounds of her jewelry tinkling the only ones heard at all.

Then the pirate stepped back, saying loudly, “I cannot believe your damned influence, Hawke. I was out of port and turned around for this.”

“Isabela...thank you,” Hawk breathed out, feeling like maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't go totally sideways.

What unsettled her again, though, was his expression. He took the book from the guard, sniffed it, held it, nodded and handed it back to someone else behind him. The Arishok then squared his shoulders, stepped down one more step, and looked directly at Hawke. “Your word was true.”

“Yes,” she murmured. Her heart ached as she whispered loudly enough, “You are free.”

The Arishok laughed darkly, the sound echoing around and making even Fenris wince at its danger. “Oh, yes. Free. Free of this place. But I cannot leave _yet_.”

“What else do you need?”

The bits of gold around his pupils flashed in the candlelight. “I have the relic. I must take its thief for punishment.”

Gasps. Isabela immediately panicked and grabbed Hawke's elbow. “Hawke, I came back. I did the right thing. Tell me you know that! You know how hard that is for me!”

“So because honor is difficult, your responsibility is absolved?” he asked, glaring then judging Hawke on her silence. “Are you so easily swayed?”

“You know not what I do about this,” Hawke reminded him, risking his glare at her. She turned to Isabela and steadied herself. “I know what you did. I know the worth of it. You know he is right, regardless of that, yes?”

Isabela kicked the floor and jerked away. “Yeah. I fucking know it.”

Hawke breathed out through her nose, turning to the Arishok again. “What options do we have?”

“Hawke!”

He ignored Isabela's shout, focused only on her face. “You give me the thief, and I go. I leave your entire city in the ruins it made for itself.”

“Or?” Qunari brows around the room rose. Hawke shrugged. “I'm not saying I disagree with your reasons. I'm listening, here.”

The Arishok paced slightly as he considered something to himself. His eyes darted around the room oddly, even over her companions, before he raised his strong head with pride. “ _Basalit-an_. Hawke. You may fight me for your thief. You win, she stays and the rest leave. I win, she returns with us. Freedom, I suppose, either way, as this must end with a death.”

“Hawke, _no_ ,” Aveline snapped, hand on her shoulder.

Fenris and Varric both started shouting, knowing exactly what the look on her face meant. Hawke was considering option two, because of course she would. She knew what Isabela had done. She knew that to take chances on people was to take risk, and in this case the pirate had done the right thing; thus her risk had been worth it. That didn't mean Isabela wouldn't have gone without punishment, at least even from Hawke in Kirkwall. And though she undoubtedly deserved the Qunari's terms and they their thief and _everyone_ in the room knew that, Hawke was finally stuck.

The Arishok tilted his face, waiting, and she realized what he'd actually done. Can I betray you, she'd asked him. This was how he planned to find out. And somewhere inside of her, Hawke heard her heart break in half.

“You deserve her,” Hawke answered, throat in pain. At the stunned silence of everyone in the room, she stared up at him, at the one person who, if the situations were entirely different in their lives, Hawke could see herself marrying, loving, and dying for. Even if he never knew she felt that way. Her chin quivered, and she saw him stiffen, as if resisting that sight. Hawke sadly smiled at him, trying to put all of her heart into it for him to _see_. “But just as I took a chance on our partnership becoming something good, I took a chance on Isabela to do right—something she struggles deeply with. And she did. She turned around her damn ship. And I will make her pay every day she is near me, bound until I say she is free. But I am not going to tie her in a dungeon and kill her. I am going to make her learn her lesson until it sticks. To kick that greed out of her. Tell me, Arishok. Is that not a Qun-worthy punishment and lesson?”

It was so quiet that she heard her own heart beating in her ears. Everyone stared at her.

The Arishok considered her, his eyes lit up in a way she rarely saw outside of their own philosophical discussions.

“Hawke, what are you doing?” Aveline asked, desperately trying to push her way to the front while Fenris thankfully hushed her.

“So...if fighting honorably is what is right, then that I will do. And if I die at your hands, in such honor, I can die knowing it was worth it. If you die at mine, you're okay with it. Just a shame, isn't it. Imagine what we could have done together.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, pulling his weapons from his large back. Something new settled into his eyes. Some sort of acceptance, yet anger simmering. “So it must be.”

“Hawke, _no!_ ” Isabela suddenly snapped. “You aren't going to _die for me_.”

“Yeah. I might,” Hawke replied, then pushed everyone back. “This is my fight. Stay the fuck out of it. And if he wins, they go free. Isabela...don't run. They'll only catch you. Do you understand?”

Every single one at her side dropped their heads in shame and fear. Isabela literally panicked, words rushing out of the pirate that stated how low she was, that Hawke should fucking run while she could, but Fenris, with one look from Hawke, grabbed the pirate and swung her out of the room. Aveline looked utterly furious, her eyes moving to the Arishok with hate. But she stood far back, arms crossed, prepared to watch and do nothing as asked.

Varric stared up at her with such wet eyes that Hawke choked a little. “Sweetheart, _no_.”

“I gotta. One of those things.”

“Hawke, please!”

She bent to her knees and hugged him around the neck. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear. “My little brother. Tell Bethany I love her.”

“Damn you,” he snapped, kissed her cheek and walked away, whispering words of love right back.

Hawke took a step forward then, shaking, her daggers in her hands at her sides. The Arishok had apparently watched the interchanges with an odd frown. Hawke finally let her heart be entirely visible as his brows drew again down in preparation. “Arishok? One last thing before we do this.”

“Hm?” he prompted, eyes tight and strangely dark at Varric.

She blew out a breath, fighting the urge to cry, then said softly for him, “I am not betraying you. I will not betray you by giving you a reason to lose your own self to anger, to corruption of revenge. That is what you have always feared most, isn't it?”

His glare was so large that everyone winced. But at the same time Hawke saw actual awe in his eyes at what she was really saying—that she would sacrifice herself to spare him losing himself in a way he hated, in a way he couldn't see yet. That she'd even gotten close enough to understand his true fear of corruption in duty and revenge in Kirkwall astounded he and his men. At the Arishok's continued stare of awe, shock, and thought, at the silence of his men around him watching, Hawke let a single tear go down her cheek as she smiled at him. “You are worth far more than you can even imagine,” she whispered, getting some very soft, sharp inhales from his guards while his darker corneas flashed with some type of emotion she wished she had time to analyze before he settled on fury of some kind.

The Arishok roared at her in rage and charged forward. Strangely enough, Hawke felt a calm settle over her. Where his acceptance had morphed to blind fury, no doubt at the situation itself alongside at her, hers had gone to peace. She slid around him, avoiding narrow swings of the ax and sword, hoping to the Maker and back that the right thing would happen, no matter what that would be—her death or his. She hoped that no matter the outcome that Isabela was safe and could grow. That her friends could understand someday the utter _love_ she had for this Qunari and forgive him.

But she wouldn't make it easy. She didn't want to spill his precious blood, no. And even though she'd known this moment had been likely since the first meeting on his dais in the compound, she had been praying and hoping it wouldn't come. But it was here, and she was as prepared as possible to kill the love of her life as she knew he was to kill her, affectionate toward her in some ways or not.

His blades bounced off of columns, glancing sparks down her armor as she twisted and ducked, finally risking a slice of one dagger and barely nicking his chest. She'd tried for deeper, but he moved so _fast_ that each blink was a risk. Hawke tried to blink as few times as possible, going several seconds without it, just darting and moving constantly. She dodged the sword only to get hit by the back of his ax arm, knocking the wind out of her and sending her sailing a few feet to the floor. He charged, shouting, head lowered and eyes almost bleeding so many emotions that she couldn't have understood what he was feeling if she tried.

He had to have been disappointed, even if her last words had given him hope and understanding.

He had to have been angry, and that was obvious.

But maybe he was also something else. Something she wasn't seeing yet.

Hawke managed to roll before the ax embedded into the floor near where her head had been. She was up, on her feet, breathing as slowly as possible to control herself, and managed to turn the control of the fight away from him for a few moments. She, too, charged, lightning fast, treating him like she would a damn Hurlock darkspawn, going for legs and sides and forearms to weaken his hold and stance. Hawke saw an opening, knew it would cost her as she bounced off his arm and away while he protected his chest, and dove in. The slam of his fist that gripped his sword coming down upon her shoulder was so bad that she thought he might have some how punched her arm right the fuck off of her body. She screamed through clenched teeth, but shoved her dagger where she'd been prepared. It was why she'd taken the obvious hit that was coming.

Hawke cried out as he did when her right dagger went straight into his side, damn near more than half-way deep. She twisted as she jerked back and the blade ripped out, tearing him deeply and resulting in his hoarse war cry as he let her move and took a deep breath, looking at the blood rushing from his lower side under a rib.

She wanted to incapacitate, first, if she had to. Otherwise, she might never get the blow to the heart that she needed. His death would be swift and honorable if she had to give it to him, and she wasn't sure she could do anything less with her training; he'd regain advantage if she didn't.

The Arishok looked up, caught her red face with the wet eyes, her left arm limp from his blow to her shoulder. She gave up pretense of being able to grip that dagger and threw it, holding only the one in her right hand. In turn he snarled and threw his ax. Honor and fairness, she could appreciate. Hawke nodded, swallowed and waited as he assessed her, then moved blindingly fast.

All the while her friends were shouting, terrified, and unable to do a fucking thing.

Hawke tried to move to her left, to roll as she usually would, but he turned, quickly, and cracked her body with the side of the blade, the flat of it. Hawke went flying across the room into one of the stone columns with her side, hit it so hard she lost her vision and felt ribs break. She fell down the four feet to the floor, hit it, and almost lost consciousness. Varric's voice shrieked out in terror and absolute hatred. Aveline was screaming at the dwarf, most likely holding him in place like Fenris had Isabela. Sebastian was praying. Merrill cried out in so much fear, and Hawke, even with bare consciousness, could feel the mage desperately holding back her magic from being used.

Hawke gasped, blinking as her eyesight finally returned, and she exhaled, seeing blood drip down her face. It was nearly over. She knew that. They all did. Hawke looked up slightly, seeing the Arishok walk to her; he didn't run, charge, or saunter with ego. He walked as if every single step was another knife in his side like her own had been. Pain was etched in his face, his chest was heaving, and when he got close enough, Hawke gripped her dagger, but didn't move.

She waited, wanting to see something.

As he had tested her with the offer and she'd surprised him with her words at the end, she would now test him with his actions. If he took her head at that moment, she'd know it was swift and granted and, in a way, not personal at all. If he stabbed her to give her a longer death, he wanted her to hurt...and hurt in a way he was inside of himself. _That_ ironically enough would be personal. Maybe not the most honorable, but personal and true.

The Arishok paused before her, bleeding from several cuts and the huge bleeding wound in his right side, and stared down at her with a bizarre combination of fear and anger. Hawke took a breath right before his free hand moved for her. The huge palm took hold of her throat and lifted her easily off the ground, dangling her feet in the air so they were nearly eye level. His right arm held the sword up, but his left fingers were wrapped around her neck and slowly squeezing.

Ah, she thought. Personal. _Intimate_ , even.  
  
He wanted her to really hurt like his eyes were showing his hurt in those moments. He wanted connection in their pain. She found, despite the horror the thought might give her friends, that she could appreciate that more than quick, painless, and more honorable.

Hawke choked, unable to breathe with the intense pressure on her trachea. With barely moments left, Hawke managed a strange, choking smile and pressed with her blade.

No one made a fucking noise. They could all see where it was.

The Arishok's eyes rounded as he felt the blade dig in half an inch against the muscle covering his heart, the giant organ beating so hard in his chest that it was almost vibrating the blade in her hand. If she pushed any more, she'd have her blade right inside of it. Hawke stared at him, not getting any air, watching his eyes search her in that haze of anger and something else. She gasped, knowing he hadn't let off his squeeze of his fingers, and tried to lick her dry lip.

Hawke knew, in that single second, she had a choice to make.

Whether they took Isabela or not, whether the pirate had already broken free of Fenris and run for it or would go and face everything, it didn't matter. What mattered, truly mattered to Hawke, was that the Arishok know—that he know without doubt, without question, that she didn't blame him. Couldn't. Wouldn't.

Her eyes were straining, bloody a bit from a burst blood vessel in one of them and blood dripping down her face in the other, but she opened them for him. She looked deep into those dark Qunari eyes with the pretty bit of gold, and she showed him love, respect, and forgiveness. Understanding. Hawke heard his intake of breath, saw his eyes widen so briefly in response, and, knowing her message had been received, tried to smile a tiny bit.

Then, as he still slowly choked her in his shock, Hawke made her decision.

She pulled the tip of the blade out of his chest and dropped it.

The sound of her dagger bouncing off of the stone floor was so loud in that brief span of time that it echoed, imprinting on every person there for years to come.

Hawke saw his gaze widen, felt his fingers flex strangely, and saw desperation she'd never seen in him before enter his vision. And then she closed her eyes and accepted death at his hand, dangling, as she began to black out.

She'd always wondered what it was like. Was dying anything like going into the Fade? How bright was Andraste or the Maker? Would she see her parents again? Carver, too? Hawke prepared for anything, anything that might be shown to her as she quickly went toward death itself, but at the last second, right when she began to see _something_ in the black shadows of her mind, it was snatched away.

Afraid, desperate, confused, Hawke screamed inside. The intensity of it, the fear in it, the _loss_ in it was so volatile that it shook her until she realized it wasn't _her_ screaming. It was the Arishok, roaring with every emotion inside of him. Hawke began to realize her consciousness was returning by slow degrees as she was tossed into the air into a different column, literally thrown from him. She hit it, fell to the floor, and collapsed, head hanging.

The Arishok barked out Qunlat, startling the fuck out of everyone, and walked away, right past Isabela without a fucking care for her, weapons holstering on his back, and hatred on his face. He turned back just once as Hawke felt her friends rush to her side. Varric and Sebastian struggled to help her up, Fenris was arguing with Aveline about her wounds, and Merrill was already using healing magic on her.

Hawke could barely breathe. She couldn't talk. Her throat was nearly crushed. But she still saw the look on his face when he turned back for that one moment of time. There was anger. There was actual hatred. But there was loss. Sadness. And, for a split second, entirely regret and wonder of what could have been before there was farewell.

 


End file.
